"Accolades For Valor" by Matthew Johnson (1993): "She goes through life, gliding, a benevolent seer/ Stopping constantly to aid those in need, those not even dear/ I, an individual, swept up in the storm/ Of a woman, who, in search of herself, defies the norm/ As I, an outcast, fighting myself, yet daring to believe/ That if I ask her aid and succor (and possibly love) she won’t leave/ Giving her heart, mind and soul to every known cause/ Causing me to look about my selfish malestrom, and in introspection give pause/ For all her words, she won’t write about me, does she fail to perceive/ What the object knows to be true and what make believe—/ Words rarely present, presence much more of one/ Is to wish for more as good as wishing for the sun?/ Energy is precious, as I know well to be true/ And I am curious to know, Lorraine, what I can ask of you/ Names are important, they make us who we are/ Much more important than people give credit, by far/ The masses may cry “Lori!” and let them do so!/ For the numbers who call that cannot understand/ They will never know the Lorraine inside, the one crying to live/ Will be forever frustrated by those whose minds are like a sieve/ There may be those who rob her of her world, let them scratch the skin/ They are as pinpricks to the steel within/ These accolades are not exaggeration, not pretentious/ I Just want you to know that there is at least one who is conscious/ That the world is a better place for the life of a woman named Lorraine."

Thursday, October 30, 1997

Contentment Lost

I shudder to think about why you are happier this way.
Sure, I long for certain aspects of freedom,
as well as characteristics
of a depth you choose not to reach,

but I was happy with you; sharing my life with you;
having you share your life with me.

My heart aches when I realize
you won't be there to hold me.

My stomach turns when I realize
I must face everything alone.

My body utterly repels my soul
when I even attempt to imagine
you devoting the same time and energy
to someone else.

I quiver for touch.
Images of passion and intimacy
flare not only my mind
but my femininity,

and when I find myself having
outrageously exciting fantasies
about anyone and everything,
they always end to include you,

and thus, my heart breaks to know
I'll never please you again;
never hear you moan in pleasure
that I endow you with.

Why??!!

October 30, 1997

posted by Lorraine Courigan at 5:03 PM

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